Ghost BC Headcanons and Oneshots!

Sentence Starter, Papa III

Request: "Let the motherfucker burn—" sentence starter

Answer:

Six Weeks Ago. 

"Il mio amore più caro, how I can't get enough of you." The youngest Emeritus brother crooned into your ear as he brushed your hair back over your ear and behind your neck.  Your lied with most of you on his chest, on a bed of messed white sheets that matched the curtains blowing in the gentle breeze from the window. The sun cast a golden haze over the room as it set oh so slowly, in the beginning hours of the evening. Rather then reply, you simply muzzled deeper into his chest and held the arm wrapped around you a little bit tighter. "IIl mio amore, il mio fuoco, il mio sempre." My love, my fire, mine always. That summer, the air was always humid, the sun was always golden, the flowers were always blooming, and the sound of bicycles rolling down the streets of Florence never stopped. The world was bright, and full of flavors you had never experienced. Your rose colored glasses painted your lips and cheeks pink. Your husband at home, his wife, they weren't thoughts in your head. Falling head over heels for each other was your business for the summer, and the job was too demanding to call home. 

"You know, we don't ever have to go home." Papa smirked into your ear with a soft sigh. 

"Knowing that something must come to an end makes it all the sweeter. The cold of the winter months makes the sun feel hotter. The routine of every day makes the spontaneous resonate deeper in your heart. But with you, every day is a little vacation." 

After leaving Florence and returning home, things were different. Fall succeeds summer, as it does every year. The pinks and blues of August fades to the rich browns and reds of the leaves on the trees that just haven't fallen yet in October. The Earth turns, and so the weather changes. You never minded the fall, no one you knew ever did, but after the warmth faded, you felt robbed. With every passing day it became more clear to you that you would only ever feel as alive as you did, for two months out of twelve, at best. When excited faded to content, content faded to rancorous loathing. Ardor to austere. As leaves die in change, something died when you two left Florence. You knew there was more to lose before the end of the year. The sky was grey instead of golden, when you woke up. Papa was already sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee and the mornings paper. You used to bring me coffee. You used to ask if I wanted a cup. We used to share every morning. Though it was merely words printed on thin paper that had a smell you could never describe, that newspaper was the most poignant symbol of the end. Your affair had become what you were both running from at home. Routine. So routine that you had seriously considered cheating on him. But cheating on the man you were having an affair with seemed useless. He didn't care, and neither did you. 

The screeching of tires nearly ruptured your eardrums. The car's headlights that were once shining directly in your eyes were now separated by a tree that had crumpled the hood of the car. A few thousand in damages, but nothing that couldn't be repaired or at worst, replaced. You were stood in the center of the street, scared stiff. The door opened and slammed. "Jesus, y/n. I you could have killed me! What are you doing in the middle of the road?" His voice sent shivers down your spine. It was the most he'd made you feel in weeks. 

"I could have killed you? You almost hit me with your car! The damned thing is better wrapped around that tree." In the midst of a screaming match, you both paused. The same realization striking two people at the same time. Your matched anger was the first thing you'd felt for each other since you left Florence. It didn't matter who was right, or who was wrong. It felt good. From there, the closer you pushed each other to the end, the more it felt like a beginning. Manic spurts of your gentle lover with his hands around your throat, not caring if you slapped and pushed him away. You aiming guns at him and near missing his heart, instead leaving a scratch on the side of his ribcage that you stitched for him after. You weren't sure if you wanted to miss or not. 'Neither of you cared, but it was most you had really cared since those warm evenings in Italy. This was another six weeks, but six weeks of sleeping with one eye open leaves you with a less than clear mind.

"Wha- What have you done!" You screamed until your lungs hurt as you ran from the driver side of your truck to the group of masked ghouls standing around the wreckage. By the time you'd followed their trail, Aether ghoul had flicked the zippo lighter into the stream of gasoline that drailed through the hard sand. A black car - Papa's car. His screams, pulling on the door, banging on the windows. Beaten and begging for his life as the car went up in flames. "Get him out of there. Let him out- Aether what have you done-" Swiss grabbed you with both arms around your torso tightly, stopping you from running into the flames to free him. Tears burned hot in your eyes as you watched heard your lovers fated screams. 

"He was always trying to kill you. You were trying to kill him. You shot him, y/n. And he tried to poison you. He had it coming." No matter how hard you tried you couldn't look away. You couldn't just shut your eyes, or run away, or stop listening. I didn't want this. I didn't want this. I never wanted this. I just wanted us to feel something.

"Besides, darling." You heard a voice that was entirely new to you. A man with a hat and an all black suit strode over slowly. He walked with a cane in one hand, gold rodent for the handle that he gripped tightly, the tail wrapping around his index finger like a ring. It glimmered in the light of the flames. His eyes were painted black, a thin mustache on his upper lip. He smirked. "It was his time anyways. Let the motherfucker burn." You turned back to the scene before you. You loved him. You loved that car. You'd spend hours in there smoking and giggling and kissing. You'd had sex in that car more times than you can count. And Papa. Both were a waste to see burn. You thought back to what he'd said in Italy. Ill mio amore, il mio fuoco, il mio sempre. My love, my fire, mine forever. My fire. Swiss hauled you back at the last second before you watched it explode.